


Try to love the things you took

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson likes making food, Daisy likes eating food, F/M, Fluff, Food preferences, Mack and Daisy friendship, Nonsense, What has Tumblr done, stake outs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosening his tie, Phil eyed the plate of treats Mack made, which looked something like blondies. He frowned.<br/>“Those have raisins on them,” he observed, and Daisy looked up curiously.<br/>“What? No, those are craisins,” she said. Phil shrugged his shoulders, incredulous. “They’re made from cranberries, not--”<br/>“I know what craisins are,” Coulson interrupted. “But you hate raisins, and they’re basically the same thing.”</p><p>(They are not the same thing.)<br/>Phil discovers one of Daisy's food preferences. It becomes an increasing source of frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try to love the things you took

**Author's Note:**

> Skoulson Raisin Wars 2k15
> 
> Yup, I dunno. #TeamDaisy #TeamCraisins

“What did you bring me?” Daisy asked immediately, and Phil raised an eyebrow.

“Hello, Agent Johnson,” he replied, climbing into the passenger seat and shutting the door. Daisy looked at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, it feels like I’ve been out here for five hours.” She looked at the time on her phone and nodded. “Yup, because I’ve been out here for five hours, got it.”

“I told you,” Phil shrugged. “Stakeouts only seem cool on TV because they can only last five minutes at a time.”

Stretching her arms as far over her head as she could in the car, Daisy groaned. “Yeah, well, next time I’ll know better. Let a ‘normal’ do all the sitting around, then I swoop in for the fun part.”

“A _normal_?” Phil asked. Wait, did she mean him? Should he be offended by that? Daisy didn’t answer, just looked pointedly at the small duffel in his hands.

“Did you bring food?” She asked, and Phil noticed she definitely seemed restless. No longer jumpy and excited, as she was when he left her, but bored, tired, and evidently _very_ hungry.  

“Yes, yes, oh superior being,” he muttered, unzipping the bag. “I’ve got carrot sticks--”

“Pass,” she interrupted. Phil rolled his eyes.

“Granola, rice cakes,” he ignored Daisy’s groans as he listed off the healthy snacks Simmons had packed. He’d been in a rush on his way out, thanking Jemma for the prepared bag as he was out the door. It wasn’t until he reached the car that he realized what was inside, and was happy he had already been ready with a backup. “A couple cookies--”

“Wait, wait,” Daisy said, perking up, and Phil bit back a smile. “Hand em over.” He didn’t resist this time, letting a small smirk escape as he handed her the bag. “Did Simmons make these?” She asked, examining the clearly-homemade baked goods.

“No,” he said, slightly hurt, but Daisy was already reaching in the bag and stuffing one in her face. Coulson watched, pleased, as Daisy’s eyes widened, clearly enjoying what he’d made for her. _Made_.  And _happened_ to bring. _To_ her. It was an ego thing, he guessed. Making something and knowing it turned out well, and the other person knowing you’re good at it.

He didn’t cook often anymore, let alone have the time to bake anything. So when the workload had slowed and he knew certain members of the team would be out on a stakeout for the next few fours...he indulged. He waited, a bit smug, for her to realize they were made by him. It was one of his favorites; a modified spice cookie recipe he’d picked up from his mother.

Then he saw it. A wrinkle between her brows.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, confused. Daisy chewed, more slowly, frowning. He’d tried one--okay, a couple-- before he’d left, they tasted fine to him. _Fantastic. They tasted fantastic, what is going on here?_

(It was definitely an ego thing.)

Finally swallowing, Daisy paused for a moment before looking down at the bag in her lap. “Are there _raisins_ in these?”

Phil gave her a funny look. “Yes?”

“Ugh _Coulson_ ,” she sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if to ask ‘why God, why?’

“What?” Okay, he was definitely offended now. Was this something he was supposed to know about her? Had he somehow forgotten raisins were her mortal enemy?

“People who put raisins in cookies are the worst,” she lamented. “At least...give a girl some warning.” Looking back down at the bag, Daisy sighed. “Who _made_ these?”

“ _I_ did,” Phil said, probably more pissy than he should have been. Daisy’s eyes flew up to meet his.

“No you didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. Phil just stared at her. “Oh my god you did.” Looking from the cookies, back to him, then back to the cookies, Daisy started to look distressed. “I didn’t-- they're _really_ good,” she told him. “Just…” Phil sat back, silently imploring her to continue. He wasn’t enjoying seeing her squirm, that would be horribly mean of him. But after such a strong reaction to something he worked _so_ hard on…

“Did you _have_ to add raisins?”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Sorry,” Daisy said, holding out her arms. “I can’t help it, they just-- they ruin everything they touch.”

Coulson scoffed. “Oh, so they’re ruined,” he said, trying not to feel as hurt as he did.

“No!” Daisy said, then paused. “Well--”

“Okay,” Coulson said, grabbing the bag from her lap. “See you in three hours.”

“ _Phil_ ,” she sighed, grabbing his arm. Getting ready to open the door,  Phil turned back expectantly. “You baked me cookies.”

“I _baked_ cookies,” he corrected, half-assedly. Daisy seemed to think up a retort, but held back.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Coulson looked at her then, really looked at her. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were open, but just barely. Stakeouts were not really fun, especially when you were short handed, running long shifts.

Alone.

“Just three more hours,” he repeated, exiting the car.

It would be three more hours until Daisy’s shift was over, but just ten minutes before Phil returned to the car with a double latte and a bag full of warm cinnamon rolls.

***

“Ooh, what’s this?” Daisy asked, peering into the bowl. Pausing just a he was about to bite into his sandwich, Coulson looked over.

“Back from your mission?” He asked, eyeing her tactical gear. Daisy hummed her affirmative, before reaching over and grabbing a fork out of the silverware drawer. “And it’s curried chicken salad,” Phil told her as she grabbed the whole bowl and walked over to sit across from him. Phil watched, amused, as she dug her fork in. “I made extra, please feel free to have some,” he said, going back to his own lunch. But he kept one eye on her, wondering if maybe he should say something.

Daisy moaned in approval after the first bite, which almost caused Phil to choke, but he held it together as she went for a second.

Her mouth full, Daisy nodded. “This is really--”

_There it is._

Her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, there are raisins in that,” he said casually, taking another bite as Daisy dropped her fork.

“It’s _chicken_.”

“Salad,” Phil corrected, trying not to smile. “What, is it _ruined_?” Daisy pursed her lips, looking down at the now-tainted food. He could see the debate raging inside of her. She was hungry, clearly, and tired, and had a whole bowl full of--he’d say it: delicious food. All ready and right in front of her. And yet, he could still see it. The resistance. She _really_ didn’t like raisins, did she?

“I can make you something else,” he finally said. Just watching her internal struggle and drooping shoulders made him exhausted.

“What? No,” Daisy said, looking up at him quickly. Coulson quirked his lips.

“I won’t put raisins in it.”

Daisy rolled her eyes, but he could see her heart wasn’t in it. “No, I mean, you don’t have to make me food just because I’m acting like a--” Coulson held up a hand, anticipating whatever indictment she was about to throw her own way.

“You’re tired and hungry,” he said, shrugging.

“ _Hangry_ ,” Daisy corrected, slumping onto the table until her temple rested against the smooth surface. “Sorry, you seem to be catching the brunt of my wrath lately.” Phil just smiled benevolently, standing up to see if there was anything he could make for her. Feeling a tug on the back of his shirt, as he walked around the table he stopped.

“You don’t have to,” Daisy said, looking up at him from the table. “Really, this is good,” she gestured toward the bowl.

“There _are_ raisins in it,” Phil said, not trying to rile her, but just a gentle reminder.

“So I’ll pick them out,” she responded, then frowned. “No offense? Is that offensive?” She sat up, shaking her head. “Just...sit. With me.”

Not about to turn down that request, Phil sat down across from her again. He picked up his sandwich, watching her pick up the fork and dig through the bowl. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by it.

***

“What are those?” Phil asked, leaning over the couch. Daisy was eating something that looked way too sweet and smelled like a bowl of frosting.

He needed one.

“Mack made them,” she said, not looking away from the movie on the scream.

 _The Blob? For Christmas?_ Okay, it wasn’t necessarily Christmas yet, but due to the recent downtime--for the team, anyway-- the base was looking fairly festive. Loosening his tie, Phil eyed the plate of treats Mack made, which looked something like blondies. He frowned.

“Those have raisins on them,” he observed, and Daisy looked up curiously.

“What? No, those are craisins,” she said. Phil shrugged his shoulders, incredulous. “They’re made from cranberries, not--”

“I know what craisins are,” Coulson interrupted. “But you hate raisins, and they’re basically the same thing.”

Daisy and Mack looked up at him, and Mack paused the movie.

“No they’re not,” Daisy said, shaking her head. “They’re way different.”

“No, they’re not,” Phil shot back, and Mack turned back to the TV, muttering something about ‘not my business.’ He hit play, and the jarring, shrill sounds of the old horror movie filled the room again. “What about one shriveled, dried fruit doesn’t bother you like the other shriveled, dried fruit?”

He wasn’t being reasonable. He knew he wasn’t being reasonable, but _come on_. How was there that much of a difference between those two stupid little things?

“Hey, do you wanna chat for a second?” Daisy asked, her eyebrows raised to their maximum judgment level. Resigned, Coulson sighed, walking out of the room. “Pause it,” he heard Daisy tell Mack.

“Or you can just speed up this conversation,” Mack muttered, turning the volume up.

Walking into the hall, Coulson turned to face Daisy, who crossed her arms. “You think you’re taking this whole raisin thing a bit personally?” She asked, and Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry,” he said, and he was. Away from the dramatic, ominous music, he felt a bit...silly about his outburst. “Long day,” he told her, and saw her stance soften a bit. And it had been. Meeting after meeting, that still felt like they were getting nowhere. And from the tone of the conversation, the worst was still yet to come.

“Are you okay?” Daisy asked, placing a tentative hand on his arm. He wasn’t, not really. And since he wasn’t, he reached up and put his hand over hers. He kind of needed it, so he indulged. Daisy’s hand was warm beneath his, small but strong. He thought of all the things it was capable of, both Inhuman and otherwise, when the most amazing thing it seemed to do just then was soothe his worries with one touch.

“Fine,” he told her, which was still technically a lie. But ‘better’ would bring questions, and ‘better, now,’ would give away too many answers.

“Yeah, okay,” Daisy said, and Coulson gave her a reluctant smile. “Come watch the movie,” she said, and even though he really just wanted to sleep, and he probably should have been doing paperwork, he let her turn his shoulders back to the room.

Seeing them enter, Mack rewound the movie a bit, giving Phil an appraising eyebrow as he sat down on the other end of the couch.

“Seen this one?” He asked, and Coulson nodded. “Good, because we’re not starting from the beginning,” he said, good naturedly. Daisy plopped between the two of them, grabbing the plate of blondies and holding it in Phil’s direction, so he grabbed one. After putting the plate back on the table, she curled her feet up between her and Mack, her toes pressing against his thigh. The move put her shoulder right up against Phil, who settled into the couch. Taking a bite of the cloyingly sweet bar, Phil reluctantly admitted to himself it was good. Really good.

And he wouldn’t admit it to her, but craisins and raisins really were different.

***

“Oh thank god,” Daisy groaned, sinking into the booth. “I’m starving.” Phil sent her a perfunctory smile from across the table. He looked out of the windows of the small restaurant, as if he was worried they were being followed. “We’re fine,” Daisy told him, and he blinked at her. “I’m not just saying that because I’m hungry either.”

He kept staring.

“I’m not!”

Okay, so maybe with her Inhuman metabolism she wasn’t quite as reasonable as she used to be when the hunger pangs came around, but she wasn’t stupid. If they had to be cautious she would be but they didn’t so she was going to sit back, relax and order one of those giant tureens of something spicy and wrap it up in a big piece of bread and stuff the whole thing in her face. Grabbing one of the menus the waiter dropped off in front of them, Daisy sighed. “Can I get everything? Like, just say ‘menu’ and they give me all of it?”

Phil looked at her, eyebrows raised. “I’m not sharing a hotel room with you after you eat an entire Indian buffet,” he said, looking back down at his menu.

“Gross!” Daisy said, reaching across the table to smack him on the arm. Phil moved out of her reach, smirking. “But probably not wrong,” she admitted, scanning the menu. “There’s a motel about two miles east of here, think it’s far enough?” Phil nodded.

They weren’t quite ‘on the run,’ not yet, but they had been making sure to spend a little more time than usual off-base. It was best for everyone, considering they seemed to have a permanent tail on them these days. It took a while every time they went out on mission to lose it, so the options were "never leave the Playground," "risk leading people right to it," or "take a couple days to make sure they shake the tail before heading home."

It was wearing on Coulson, Daisy could tell. He was making that worried face more often than not. Sometimes she would wonder if she should just put him out of his misery and make a break for it --because as much as he tried to hide it, they all knew who everyone is _really_ after,--but she knew she could never do it. If he didn’t end up stupidly going after her, he would just worry even more that she was on her own and he didn’t know where, and it was all his fault, etc.

“Know what you want?” Phil asked, and Daisy’s eyes darted up. “Besides ‘everything?’” Daisy smiled and he returned it. Something about the mood seemed to have shifted, when Daisy suddenly wondered if the candles on their table were lit the whole time. 

_Seriously when did that happen?_

He must have caught her confused stare. “The waiter came by, while you were dwelling,” Phil told her. She raised an eyebrow.

“Dwelling? On?”

Phil leaned back, giving her face a searching look. He had his profiler game face on. “The past few days, probably, what they mean in the long run.” He seemed to look at her more closely, and maybe it was the candles but something about him looked very serious just then. Sad, almost. “Maybe your responsibility for this chase, which, I shouldn’t have to remind you again, is non-existent.”

“I was dwelling on whether I want my bread stuffed with cheese or just slathered in butter, actually,” Daisy said, looking back at the menu.

“Daisy--”

“ _Phil_ ,” she interrupted, looking up at him. “Can we just have a nice dinner?” Daisy wrinkled her nose, and saw Phil make an incredulous face. “Oh god, I sounded like one of my foster moms just now.” _Mrs. Santamore_. She was nice, but Mr. Santamore always seemed to be trying her patience. Daisy decided no further details were relevant, as she saw Coulson look down at his own menu with a smile on his face.

“What are you getting?”

 

Biting back a groan as the waiter delivered her food, Daisy wondered if she needed to wipe away any drool. Maybe it was because of over-exerting herself, or the temporary nomadic lifestyle, but she was pretty sure this was going to be the best meal she ever ate.

She spooned some rice and chicken on her plate, and the table descended into silence while they stuffed their faces. Well, she stuffed her face. Phil was proper and civilized as ever, though clearly enjoying it as well. Getting curious, she looked over at his plate.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, not even looking up. “I can feel your food-vision from here.” Daisy’s eyes narrowed.

“I was just thinking, we both got different things, there’s no reason we can’t--”

“There’s raisins in this.” There was a small smile on his face, so at first Daisy wondered if he might not be bluffing, trying to keep her paws off of his dinner.

(She couldn’t blame him, really.)

But sure enough, she leaned over the table a bit and could see the small specks in there among all the amazing smelling sauce and lamb and whatever else was on his plate. She looked up, guilty, sure that Coulson was probably watching her watch his food.

But his gaze was, in fact, significantly lower. 

“ _Coulson_ ,” she said, and his eyes darted upward. _He_ was the guilty one in this scenario.

“I--” He began, in a rare moment of speechlessness.

To be fair, they had been spending _a_ _lot_ of time together. In and out of motel rooms, long drives that you could easily begin to mistake for road trips, once their tail was ditched. It had put some things...in perspective for Daisy. She had avoided reading too much into it, as she tended to do with her Coulson Feelings. It was for their own good. Not making it weird.

_But it's not really weird at this point was it?_

“You owe me,” she said, leaning back in her chair, looking as smug as she could. She could see Coulson bristle just a bit at that. He was probably feeling chastened enough as it was. “You have to give me some of your food,” she clarified.

Coulson’s face, which was finally beginning to lose the slight blush it had picked up, became one of confusion. “But you don’t like it.”

Daisy shrugged. “I might, never tried it. Just because I don’t like raisins in cookies, or sandwiches, or on their own, or in bread doesn’t mean they’re...all bad.” She finished lamely, not sure the point she was making (was there a point?) was coming across.

She could see Phil’s desire to understand what exactly was going on fight with his instinct to take the out and let this go, and finally the second won out. He scooped a little bit onto his fork, and raised it up to hand to her. Ignoring the little shriveled raisin she could see perched just on the edge, Daisy took a breath, leaned in, and ate right off the fork. Chewing thoughtfully she sat back in her seat. Phil’s eyes were lasered in on her face this time, with a fun mix of baffled astonishment, curiosity, and a look she had been waiting to see from him for longer than she herself realized.

“Not bad.”

***

“Wakey wakey,” Daisy called, and Phil groaned.

“Day off. Too early. Not happening.” Rolling over he shoved his face further into the pillow, blocking out the damned light. It had been a late night...as most had been in recent weeks, and he finally got to sleep in. _And yet…_

“I brought breakfast,” Daisy said, sitting on the bed next to him. Phil turned his head on the pillow, staring at her as she leaned against the headboard.

She was already reaching into the white bakery bag, and Phil had to check himself before he pointed out how many crumbs she was going to get on the bed. It was a hotel room, housekeeping would take care of it.

The smell of cinnamon filled the room.

“I think I’m going to microwave one, you want?” Daisy asked, holding a cinnamon roll in his direction. Phil just groaned again, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying his face in her side.

“Those are all sugar,” he complained, and he could feel Daisy laughing at him.

“Come on Phil, live a little,” she said, and Phil smiled, pressing a kiss to her hip, through her leggings.

“What do you call this?”

What _did_ they call it? It was strange, because it somehow hadn’t felt like enough of a change to put a label on his relationship with Daisy. It was less of a change, more of a natural progression. It baffled him sometimes, how he could have a comfortable conversation with her, just like he would before.

...Except now it took place either before, after or during sex. Or maybe not sex (although...it was still new-ish. So yes, there was a lot,) but even just lazing around in bed or cuddling on the couch. (He was a cuddler. He'd admit it. To her.) The only major difference was that instead of just thinking about kissing her, or running his fingers through her hair, or closing the office door for some privacy, he could actually _do_ those things.

It was a good development.

“I call it... _almost_ what I’m looking for,” Daisy said wickedly, and Phil chuckled. Pulling her closer he kissed higher on her hip, until he got to the patch of skin above her pants. “Not so tired now, huh?” She asked, but her voice was kind of muffled.

“Are you _eating_ right now?”

Phil had learned fairly early on, there were three things that could get and maintain a hold on Daisy’s attention: sex, work, and food. Since they were technically on vacation, he only had to compete with food, and so far it was not turning out as easy a battle as he had thought.

_Those do smell really good though._

“I got you something too,” she said, licking a bit of icing off her thumb in a totally nonchalant way that he knew wasn’t actually meant for him but still succeeded in gaining his complete attention. “From the store,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of a shopping bag she’d left on the hotel dresser.  He didn’t need a closer look to see what the box inside contained.

“Raisin Bran? Hilarious,” Phil drawled, finally pulling himself to a sitting position. Daisy was looking very smug (and covered in cinnamon sugar) so he leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth. She let out a pleased little hum, but her eyes fell back onto the pastry in her hand. “Seriously?” Phil asked, taking the roll and placing it on the bedside table.

“Phiiiil,” Daisy whined, before he took her hand and wrapped his lips around her index finger. After making sure he got all the frosting there ( _and_ all of Daisy’s attention, based on her sharp intake of breath and wide eyes) he released it.

“Yeah okay or that,” Daisy muttered, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss.

 


End file.
